Personal Business
by Darke Angelus
Summary: While on the trail of a bank robber with rather fantastic skills, the Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. cross paths with a pair of young men who will radically change their perspective of the world they operate in.


Agent Grant Ward was not a man who took inactivity very well.

Prior to his 'promotion' to Level 7 (he was still on the fence whether it actually was a promotion or if it was some sort of punishment), he had been used to relying on his own instincts and expertise as a Black Ops Specialist who operated solo. He had been supremely good at it, almost on par with the super spy known as the Black Widow. Why he had been thrust into this eclectic group of misfits was still a complete mystery to him.

Despite his misgivings, he was a soldier first and foremost and followed his orders (even if he didn't particularly like them) and managed to keep his usually-negative opinions to himself. Not that there was anyone willing to hear his complaints. Maria Hill had made her irritation with him quite clear during their initial interview. Agent Phil Coulson was a little more laid back, but even he had his limits and displayed an unorthodox manner of expressing his displeasure. Grant had been on the receiving end of one of his odd reprimands already and didn't want a repeat of that humiliation. The two Europeans Leo Fitz and Jemma Simmons could almost be dismissed as twins for the way they finished off each others sentences if not for their different ages and accents. They were brilliant in their individual fields, but listening to their techno-babble longer than a minute often gave Grant a headache. Their civilian recruit and expert hacker, Skye, wasn't much better. She was a superhero groupie and currently sporting a raging crush on Thor, if the posters and memorabilia she had squirreled away in her quarters onboard their aircraft was any indication.

Of them all, Grant had the most in common with Melinda May, known in exclusive clicks as "The Cavalry". They were similarly trained and sparred often between missions, usually conceding to a reluctant draw in their matches. With her distinctly Asian features, she was beautiful and exotic. She was also closemouthed and brooding; traits they shared. Grant thought about her quite often when he masturbated. Almost as often as he thought about Natasha Romanoff.

Bored beyond belief, he was thinking about the beautiful Russian agent now as he lounged in one of the seats watching the air crew fuel up their plane which served as their Mobile Command (nicknamed "The Bus"). He wondered what mission she was currently on. Mostly he wondered why she'd received the distinction of being a member of the now-famous Avengers initiative while he was sentenced to serve out his imagined penance among this eclectic group of nobodies. It didn't seem fair.

Maria walked past him and said three words that got him moving. "He's struck again."

He was immediately out of his seat and following her to the briefing room where Coulson, Melinda, and Skye were already waiting. It took them a few minutes, but Fitz and Simmons finally showed up. The Scottish tech handed Skye what looked like a flash drive. When she plugged it in to the main console, the entire room lit up with a holographic display.

"The media has now dubbed him as 'The Flash'," Maria said in her usual brisk tone, watching the display. It was of a bank robbery. Leo Fitz had taken all of the footage from the bank's five cameras and manipulated them seamlessly together into a black and white three-dimensional display that followed the hooded individual from the moment he walked in through the door, armed with what looked like an AK-47. The robber appeared to be working alone (a fact Grant could appreciate) and told everyone to lay down on the ground. It was clear from his accent that he was Spanish. With incredible casualness for a person in his situation, he robbed each teller of their till, often making small talk and flirting as if he didn't have a care in the world.

"Flash?" Melinda queried. "Isn't that the comic book hero with super speed?"

"Yep!" Skye said, and she would be the one to know. Thanks to the PirateBay, she illegally downloaded scores of comics and graphic novels when she wasn't breaking into government databases. "Except in this guy's case, it's not speed he's got."

"I know," the Asian said with a sigh. They all watched the robber casually walk back towards the door with a dufflebag full of money slung over one shoulder. In a brilliant explosion of light, he disappeared. It was always the same damn thing. "When did this one happen?" The Bus was currently sitting on a reserved landing strip at the Newark Liberty International Airport. They had just investigated a similar robbery that had happened in Manhattan the day before.

"Today in San Francisco at 0940h. The robbery took exactly twelve minutes," Fitz said, handing Skye another flash drive. The holographic display changed but not the lead character in the drama. It was another bank and strolling inside was that same hooded figure in the same clothes with the same assault weapon. The only difference was that his dufflebag was empty, but it wouldn't be for long. "At 1015h., he was robbing _that_ bank in South Carolina."

"LDT," Coulson spoke up for the first time. As with all things, his face was carefully neutral.

Grant was having a hard time keeping up with all of the acronyms of Level 7. "What's that?"

"Long Distance Teleporter," Simmons said, her eyes were positively sparkling.

"We know that, technologically, it's possible to create a wormhole for vast transportation purposes," Fitz cut in.

"Like Asgard's Rainbow Bridge," Skye sighed, thinking of her Thunder God crush. Grant favored her with a withering scowl of disapproval.

Simmons said, "For an _individual_ to generate that kind of energy is-was thought to be impossible."

"Why?" Melinda asked.

"Physics aside, the power output to manage such a transfer should burn the person out. Literally." She nodded to the freeze-framed image of the robber. "That bloke is cruising along like a bloomin daisy."

"Six banks in one week," Coulson remarked. "And those are just the financial institutions we've gotten viable footage from. There's no telling what other thefts he may be responsible for. We haven't heard of this particular MO used in Canada, South America or Europe. He seems confined strictly to the United States."

"Lucky us," Grant remarked, crossing his arms. "Aside from approximate body size and height, and the fact that he has an accent, what else do we have on him?"

"We might have a lead. We're not entirely sure," Maria said and glanced over at Skye. "Show us the feed you got from Midtown."

"_Oh!_ See, I have a program that trolls various police and agency bandwidths for certain buzzwords that I input. Thanks to Flash there, I was scrolling Manhattan back-chatter for anything relating to weird disappearances," the brunette said, fingers flying over the keyboard while she looked around at everyone and talked, as if her hands were a separate part of her. "I lucked out and actually got a dashcam video of an arrest some New York city cops tried to make last night."

"It's ... interesting, to say the least," Maria said and nodded at her to play it.

* * *

The night before, at a dive in Hell's Kitchen, Julio Richter was sitting at the bar getting hammered on shots of tequila. It was past midnight and he was pretty well in the bag. Not so far gone that what he saw on the dance floor wasn't pissing him off, but at least he was past the point of wanting to put a stop to it. He downed his shot and motioned to the bartender for a refill. While he waited, he turned around to watch the show.

"_He's fantastic!"_ one woman shrieked into his left ear. Above the cacophony of music and screaming people, he could barely hear her.

"He's _something_, that's for sure," Julio grumbled, his English mangled by his heavy accent and state of inebriation.

"_What?!" _

He passed her an irritated shake of his head and the woman, heavy make-up, full-breasted and wearing tight clothes, huffed and grabbed onto another guy. Julio didn't notice how attractive she was and couldn't have cared less anyway. The only object of his interest was making an ass of himself when they were supposed to be operating under the radar. Crowds did it to him every damn time.

Out in the middle of the staged platform, a tall, muscular, attractive man with long red hair was dancing in the center of a crowd of cheering women (and more than a few men). It wasn't even really dancing; it was a blend of break-dancing, acrobatics, parkour, and impossible contortions all set in perfect time to the frantic, bass-heavy Techno music. Julio had seen it all before and it never ceased to amaze (and annoy) him. Small wonder the women were working themselves into a frenzy. The redhead's movements were fluid and hypnotic and completely captivating. Everyone in the dive was watching him and that was just how the redhead liked it. The more attention the better. Right now he was bare-chested; his shirt discarded about an hour or so ago. Julio knew from past experience that he was going to have to move in and put a stop to things when it looked like the pants were about to go the same way as the shirt.

"Man, we never should have watched 'Magic Mike'," he muttered under his breath, wiping his face with a heavy hand. He noticed his glass had been refilled and turned back around to concentrate on his drinking.

The bartender leaned in and blasted into his ear. "I saw you two come in together. You know that guy?"

"Unfortunately."

"Think he'd be interested in a job?"

"No. _We_ already have one."

"Too bad. He's really good," the burly man said and left to take someone else's drink request. Julio saw the way the guy had been eyeing his friend most of the night and felt a pang of immediate jealousy. Hell, and this time they weren't even in one of 'those' bars!

The screaming was reaching a crescendo and he turned around again and saw the redhead had picked up a woman and was dancing with her. 'Dancing' was really the last thing it actually was; it was rhythmic humping through clothes all set to music. The woman had her legs locked around his waist and her hands in his hair while he had firm grip on her ass and his face between her massive breasts. She wasn't any svelte, petite model-type either; she was a really big woman, but the redhead was moving around as if she didn't weigh a thing. That was one of the good things about the guy, Julio mused, having to betray a smile at the sight. Appearances didn't matter to him. He had just given the lady a night she would never forget, if the dazed, radiant grin on her face when he set her down was any indication. He flashed her one of his patented sexy smiles, gave her a brief kiss, and went back into the crowd for another eager volunteer.

The scene was starting to get out of control. Julio knocked his last drink back, laid some bills on the counter and jumped off the stool, staggering a step or two before his legs decided to bear his weight. He had to force his way through the excited throng and finally found his friend in the middle of a grope fest with several girls who looked barely old enough for college. His zipper was at half-mast and that was the final signal Julio had been looking for.

"Time to go, Star," he said. He didn't need to shout and the redhead immediately broke off a kiss with one of the girls to stare at him in dismay. He had what looked like a dark brown tattoo over his left eye in the shape of a star, hence the nick name. It seemed to add to his supernatural good looks rather than distract from it.

"Already?" It came out sounding like a moan.

Julio made an impatient gesture of tapping his left wrist, as if pointing to a wristwatch, and then jerked his thumb over his right shoulder at the exit. That was the extent of the conversation. He turned and started to leave and one of the girls made the mistake of grabbing his shoulder. "Hey cutie, cut the guy some slack. Let's all party-"

"Get your paws off me, puta," Julio said, slapping her hand away. That created the expected domino effect of someone slapping him on the back. It was some biker dude about a foot taller than him. Julio whirled around and fearlessly confronted the guy, shouting: "Same to you, cabrón. Back off!"

"Little snot-nosed wetback-" The huge man hauled a fist back, but that was as far as it got. Star slipped in behind him in a move like lightening and grabbed the biker's hand. The good humor was suddenly gone from his face and his silver-blue eyes narrowed a fraction. There was the sound of cracking bones and the leather-clad antagonist released a howl of pain and dropped to his knees, cradling his now-broken wrist.

The music stopped in mid-note and everyone stopped cheering. In the sudden void, Julio's exclamation came out loud and clear: "Damn it! Why'd you go and do that for?"

The only expression on the redhead's face was mild indifference to the situation. "He was going to hurt you. I hurt him first."

The house lights came on and Julio saw the bouncers working their way through the crowd towards them. "Zip it up and let's meet in the alley. Vamonos!" He ducked away and, with his smaller size, wove through the bodies with deceptive skill. At any place they didn't know, they scoped out all the exits first and the Hispanic dipped around the corner of the bar to the storage room and slipped out of the back door he knew was there. He emerged into an alley that reeked of cat piss where used condoms were scattered near a dumpster like shed snake skins.

"C'mon, Star. C'mon, c'mon," he chanted under his breath. He heard the faint sound of a siren that sounded like it was coming closer. Figures they had to have the bad luck of picking a bar in a part of the city where cops regularly patrolled. "Where the hell are-"

A figure dropped down out of the darkness to appear in front of him, landing in a lithe crouch before straightening. "The exits were all blocked. I used the roof access. I had to retrieve my sword anyway." He was carrying an "X" shaped scabbard that had a sheathed sword strapped in one. The other was empty. He pulled it on and securely buckled the straps. Julio, eager to be away, suddenly found the sight of Star's bare torso covered only in his leather weapon harness to be more than a bit distracting. "Oh wow, man. That's a totally cool look on you."

Star made a show of flexing his arms, purposely making his muscles bulge. "I've always found a shirt to be confining. Perhaps I'll make this my new style," he said, flashing his friend a knowing smirk.

"Well, you wouldn't get any complaints from me," Julio said honestly. "But it throws the whole undercover thing all to hell. You can't walk around an earth city armed."

"Not even in this fabled land of the Large Apple?"

"Big Apple," Julio corrected with a laugh. He pulled on one of Star's straps and got them moving. As they ran down the alley, he added, "This whole city's been on edge ever since that alien invasion last year. Hell, the whole damn country's going crazy over it. You start flashing those things around and you're gonna find yourself on a dissection table in Area 51."

"That would never happen."

"Oh yeah? Why're you so sure of that?"

Star flashed him an adoring smile. "I know that you would rescue me."

Julio stumbled in surprise and might have fallen if Star hadn't grabbed the back of his coat to keep him on his feet. Just as he was about to say something in response, they emerged from the alley and were assaulted by a spot light, stopping them in their tracks.

"Stay right where you are," a cop called from the driver side of his patrol car as he cautiously got out. His partner was exiting the passenger side, hand on the butt of his automatic. "Hands up where we can see them."

"I will not be dissected," Star said grimly and reached up and pulled his sword free in one fluid move. Julio, knowing what was to come next, slid smoothly behind him as if they had faced this kind of stand-off before.

"He's armed!" the other cop cried. The act of the policemen withdrawing their weapons and Star slashing his sword straight down at the ground was simultaneous. A bright, glowing slit of light appeared between them as if he had cut the very fabric of reality. When it sealed back together a few seconds later, the two were gone along with it.

"What the hell, Mikey?" one of the cops managed to wheeze.

"I ain't gotta clue," Mike the cop admitted. It took them several minutes to work up the nerve and investigate the alley, but they found no trace of the two men.

It was just another typical night in the Large Apple.

* * *

The S.H.I.E.L.D. team split up into two groups. The Bus was already in New York so Grant, Fitz and Skye drove back to Manhattan before Melinda flew the others down to Charleston, South Carolina. It was a general consensus among all of them that neither of the two in New York were their robber, but the odds of two teleporters suddenly appearing on their radar at the same time couldn't be discounted as simply a chance happening. As usual, Fitz and Simmons had a bet riding on what they would ultimately discover. Fitz was pinning all the teleporting on some sort of technical device. Simmons was leaning towards a more genetic explanation. She was becoming engrossed with the fringe science of mutations and beginning to realize that it was having an impact in the human population far more than anybody realized. She was really pulling for a 'mutant' discovery.

Starting at the dive in Midtown West, Skye tried using a flirtatious approach to interview the bartender until the man came right out and told her not to bother. She wasn't his type. Baffled by what that meant, she pressed on and was finally rewarded with the details about what had happened the night before. She was actually pretty amused to hear about the antics out on the dance floor right up until the redhead had effortlessly snapped the biker's wrist. From that point on, she knew they weren't dealing with some Avengers-wannabe here (and it was amazing how many of the lower level agents were encountering people who were faking having powers to try and get their meagre fifteen minutes of fame). This guy sounded like the real deal.

Grant's interview of the two cops confirmed that they weren't dealing with cheap Hollywood special effects. The redhead's Latino companion had hid behind the swordsman, and there had been some talk of not being dissected before they jaunted away. It was clear of the pair just who had the power and who the sidekick was. That raised the question: _How do you catch a teleporter?_

Fitz figured he might have the answer. He was using one of his more cantankerous drones to take readings of the area outside of the alley the police had marked off with tape, following S.H.I.E.L.D. instructions. "Grumpy" was specifically designed to read tachyon particles and had earned its namesake because it wouldn't budge from a spot once it found what it was programmed to seek. Right now, it was stubbornly hovering over the area where the redhead named "Star" had created the teleportational breech. The readings were off the scale of the handheld console the scientist was holding.

"Ah dinnae believe it," he marvelled, slipping back into his native brogue.

"Good news, I hope?" Grant prompted, coming up along side of him.

"Och. 'Tis better'n aht!"

He scowled. "English, Fitz."

The Scotsman cleared his throat. "It's great news. I've got a clear reading of the specific harmonic wavelength that managed to create a tear through the space/time continuum and enable non-atrophying molecular transportation straight along an X-Y axis."

Grant glowered at him and then repeated. "English, Fitz."

Fitz began packing up his gear instead. As usual, when he tried to recall Grumpy, it made a sound like a raspberry before reluctantly settling back into its padded transport case. "We need to get back to that bank on Fifth Avenue." It was the one that "Flash" had robbed the day before.

Not questioning the hyper man's logic, Grant served as chauffeur and drove them to their destination. While the scientist began unpacking his equipment again, completely oblivious of the attention he was getting from casual observers, Grant acted on a hunch and walked up to the counter flashing his badge and asked for the manager. While he waited, he motioned Skye to come over. The brunette was already identifying where all the video cameras were set up with an experienced (and suspicious) eye. As far as the young hacker was concerned, James Orwell's "Big Brother" nightmare was alive and well in this technological age and she considered it her duty to supply the Average Joe with the tools and knowledge necessary to protect themselves (even from organizations as covert as S.H.I.E.L.D.). The was the intended agenda of the group known as The Rising Tide.

"Can you tap into their feed?" Grant asked while he waited for the manager to come scurrying out of his office.

"I left a backdoor the last time I remotely hacked into their video surveillance to get our footage of Flash. What do you want me to look for?" She was pulling her laptop out of her backpack.

"It's just a hunch, but I've got the feeling those two guys are in New York the same reason we are. In fact, I'd almost say that they're-"

They were interrupted as a heavyset man waved at them to come around the counter. The manager ushered them into his office and started to close the blinds, hesitating when he saw Fitz launch a drone into the air.

"I didn't think I'd see you again so soon. You were just here yesterday," he said. "Did you catch the guy already?"

"We're pursuing a fresh lead. I have a few follow-up questions relating to our investigation," Grant said, while Skye began working away on her laptop, ignoring the exchange. "I don't expect you to remember everyone who comes through your door, but these two probably would have stood out from the regular crowd. Did you or your staff happen to see a tall redhead-"

He never got a chance to finish. "-with a tattoo on his face? Yes. He came in this morning with a shorter Latino, Hispanic, Mexican American, or whatever the hell the politically correct term is nowadays."

"Did they talk to anyone?"

"Only to me when I asked them what the hell they were doing. They were over in the spot where the robber, uhm, disappeared. Even though we had the area marked off-limits, they went straight to it. The redhead was feeling around the floor until I disturbed them. The Latino told me to- Well, let's say he was a rude little punk. I had to have security escort them to the door. They left without making a scene."

_Lucky you._ Grant had the thought it might be an understatement.

"Here we go," Skye announced, twirling her laptop around. She had used her previous access to delve into the video record feed. On the screen was the incident that the manager had described in full detail.

The man was stunned. "How the hell did you-"

This time Grant cut him off with; "Top secret." Turning to Skye, he said, "Clean it up, zoom in to grab some clear head shots, and send the images to our other team just in case those two went there."

"Got it," she said, leaving the office. Just before she was gone, she poked her head back in the doorway and said to the bewildered manager, "It was a pleasure meeting your database." Then she was gone.

Grant could have throttled her.

By the time he had the manager calmed down, he emerged from the office and saw a crowd had gathered around Leo Fitz. He had one of the retractable staffs Grant often used in combat imbedded in the floor and was jury-rigging a sonic grenade together with Grumpy. If these curious folks had any idea what forces the Scot was tampering with, they would have headed for the hills. Instead, they goggled at him with curious wonder.

Leaning over Fitz's shoulder, Grant murmured in a low voice, "Doesn't the concept of anonymity mean anything to you?"

"Huh? Oh!" It dawned on the scientist that he was becoming quite a draw. "Step back e'erybody! This could be a wee bit dangerous." Nobody budged. This was New York after all.

Somebody in the back shrieked: "It's a bomb!" and that was enough to change the tide because that was a buzz word New Yorkers paid keen attention to. In seconds, the screaming crowd scattered, running for the exits and leaving only Skye standing where she had been all along. "Works every time," she said smugly.

"Amateurs," Grant huffed. "I hate working with freakin amateurs."

"Hey, it got the job done, didn't it?"

"No, genius, because in a few minutes this place will be swarming with cops, S.W.A.T., and firefighters! We were supposed to be in and out without calling attention to ourselves." He whirled on Fitz. "And what the hell are you doing, anyway?!"

"Well, I cannae build this on the Bus. I have to be exactly where the teleport took place. I'm building a generator to match the signal."

Grant pinched the bridge of his nose as if stemming off an impending migraine. "Okay, we really need to work on our communication skills before we pursue any course of action in the future. You should have waited to do that until I had a chance to diplomatically close the bank."

Skye snorted. "Diplomatic? You?"

"Do you have something to contribute, Homeless Van Girl?"

"I wasn't homeless! That _was_ my home."

Leaning down into her face, Grant snapped. "If you keep up the insubordination, it'll soon be your home again!"

"Och. Why don't ye two snog and jus' get it o'er with?" Fitz muttered under his breath.

They whirled on him together. _"What?!"_

"Nothing, nothing. Eccentric scientific babbling, is all. Carry on."

"_Any_way," Skye huffed. "I sent close-ups of the pair to Coulson. Good-looking guys. Especially the redhead." Grant was positive she was saying that to goad him but refused to be baited. "Melinda said that they hadn't been seen at the bank."

"The day's not over yet. They have the time to hang around and wait, which is more than I can say about us," Grant said, hearing the distant drone of sirens. A lot of them. He looked at Fitz again. "Whatever you're building, make it fast."

"It's quite simple really," Fitz said. "Everything is tied into harmonics. Whatever device that bloke is using to jaunt about with, this should be able to mimic the frequency."

For a change, Grant was actually waiting for more of an explanation. When he didn't get one, he prompted, "And then what?"

"Well, I'm not _entirely_ sure of the end result, t' be honest with ye. Some of the readings Grumpy took were a tad ... odd. The spot in the alley where the two blokes disappeared is slightly different than this one where the robber teleported."

"Different how?"

"Flash's readings were stronger of the two. That's a good thing."

"Is it?"

"Aye. I'm recreating the signal to make this tech act as a beacon. It should resonate with the stronger device and attract it."

"You mean it'll lure the robber back here?"

"Aye. Tha's what I said."

"No, you-" Grant shook his head. "Never mind. As soon as it's ready, turn it on. We don't have much time thanks to bomb girl here."

Skye glared at him and, hidden from prying eyes, flashed him the finger behind her laptop.

"It's ready now," Fitz said. "But-"

"Activate it."

"I really should double-check the settings-"

"No time. Flip the switch. That's an order."

Fitz shrugged. "Okey-dokey. Here. We. GO!" He turned it on and dramatically stuck his fingers in his ears and squeezed his eyes shut. Skye took his cue and hugged her precious computer, visibly cringing in expectation.

Grant's posture never changed. He blinked once, crossed his arms, and sighed. "Great. It's a dud."

"It tis not!" Futz cried. He tapped the sensor node on Grumpy. "Wake up! _Wake up, ye temperamental lil bast-" _

The room exploded into white before he could finish the word. When they managed to blink the spots from their eyes, they saw that they were in another building. "Where the hell are we?" Grant sputtered, whirling around and looking at the stunned faces of civilians.

Skye craned her neck and looked out of the nearest window. She looked back at the senior agent in disbelief. "Holy cow. I think we're in San Francisco."

* * *

In Charleston, Melinda May thanked the teller for her time and then wrote things down in a battered notebook she kept in her back pocket. All of the interviews were the same; with the robber being a suave, manipulative bastard who took the money and disappeared. It was really a miracle that nobody had gotten hurt. _Yet_. Where guns and money were concerned, it was simply a matter of time.

Phil Coulson was looking around, his sharp eyes taking everything in but his face betraying absolutely nothing. Jemma Simmons was inside of the area marked off with police caution tape where the robber had made his disappearance. She was collecting evidence from various spots on the floor using the drone named "Doc". Then she left that spot and took a few scans from the nearest surfaces that surrounded the general area.

Melinda watched their routine and sighed. She had much preferred the isolation and peace-of-mind of her desk job before being pulled out of "retirement". At first, her responsibilities had been only to fly the Bus for the Level 7 agents; an arrangement she had been perfectly fine with. Now she was right back to packing firepower and doing fieldwork with the rest of the ragtag crew.

Grudgingly, she had to admit that it had been her choice to go back to active duty, but she knew there really hadn't been much choice in the matter. She and Grant were the only two operatives specifically trained to take on virtually any threat. Phil Coulson and Maria Hill had their own areas of expertise, but combat wasn't at the top of the list. Phil was a skilled negotiator while Maria liked to stay on board their command center as their liaison and deal exclusively with logistics. When the team split up, someone had to play babysitter to the novice members and that meant another skilled agent had to step up to the plate. Melinda mused it might as well be her.

She watched Simmons collect some more readings and then began to enter the information into her computer. That was when Melinda decided she would be approachable for conversation. "How's it going?"

"Well, I've gathered a series of readings that I'm cross-referencing through our main database now. It'll be able to tell if the particle residue from the teleports is organic or synthetic in origin."

"You really think the redhead is a mutant, don't you?"

"They _do_ exist. S.H.I.E.L.D. knows of a private school in Westchester that trains them."

"To what end?"

"We don't know," Coulson told her. "But they're under close watch." The rest was unsaid while the message was clear; _Just in case_.

"But you've never actually met one," Melinda pressed.

Simmons cheeks flushed. "Well ...no. That's what makes this all so exciting! It would be like finding Nessie. Or-or Bigfoot! Having tangible evidence that they're actually real. Fitz is certain it's a device creating the transports. I'm betting on an individual ability. If we get contrasting information when we compare the data, then it means there's two separate parties involved. If the markers are the same-"

"If they're the same, it means they're working together," Melinda concluded.

Coulson spared her a mild glance. "What makes you say that?"

"The robber clearly had a Spanish accent. According to the witnesses in the bar, so did one of the two men the police cornered last night."

Simmons snapped. "_Oi!_ Leave that ethnic profiling shite to airport security bozos."

"I'm just going by what little evidence we actually have. We're dealing with teleporters. How else are we going to get any information?"

Looking at the door, Coulson casually remarked, "Why don't we just ask them?"

"What are you-" Melinda turned around and fell into stunned silence. Standing on the front steps in full view outside of the bank were the pair from New York. They were studying a street map and arguing back and forth. The tall man was unmistakable with his bright red hair tied back in a ponytail. His smaller companion was wearing sunglasses, but he fit the picture Skye had sent them two hours before. "I'll be damned," the agent marvelled.

"No sudden moves. I don't want them to bolt before we have a chance to state our intentions," Coulson said, walking towards the glass doors. He was glad that he had excused the police and local federal agents and taken control of the investigation. The sight of cop cars and black vans would have spooked the pair off before he or his team would have ever even seen them. As he slowly opened one of the doors, he could hear their frustrated conversation.

"_Madre de Dios_, there's gotta be a dozen of these blasted things around this stupid city!" Julio groused, squinting at the map in his hands. He didn't want to take off his sunglasses to see better because he was still hung-over. "This is our third spot."

Holding onto a sheet of some computer print-out, Star said, "This online article was not specific. It only named the bank, not the branch location or even a street as a reference point. We'll have no choice but to search each one."

With a curse, Julio balled up the city pamphlet and threw it to the ground in frustration. "What's the difference now, anyway? The bastard was here and gone. It's not like he's gonna come back."

Star huffed in annoyance. "He has less than a 24 hour lead. If I touch the spot-" His eyes sharpened on something over his friend's shoulder and he dropped his voice and spoke without moving his lips. "Get behind me, Julio." He was wearing a white leather jacket that hung down to mid-thigh and reached one hand to the concealed sheathe under his armpit where the hilt of a sword stuck out. He didn't withdraw it. Yet.

Julio turned and saw a man in a suit emerge from the bank entrance. He had one hand up in the air and the other was holding his ID. "Goddamn Feds," the Hispanic growled under his breath.

"This Hue-Ass-of-Eh has many enforcement branches. Which one is he from?" Star whispered.

"With my luck? Deportation," came the sour response.

"Good afternoon, gentlemen. My name is Phil Coulson," the agent said, pausing on the top step and coming no further. "I was wondering if I could take a few minutes of your time and ask you a few questions. It would be very much appreciated."

"He's certainly polite," Star remarked, earning him a kick to the ankle.

"Some other time, jefe," Julio called out, leading his friend down the sidewalk. Or tried to. Star was reluctant to leave. "C'mon, man!"

"I think we should hear him in."

"It's 'hear him out' and no, we shouldn't."

"My colleagues and I are investigating a series of rather strange robberies," Coulson continued. "Any information that you could provide us would be appreciated."

"What makes you think we know anything?" Julio snapped. "We're just tourists looking around. That's all we're doing. Leave us alone!"

The agent smiled and offered them a nod. "Sorry to bother you. Enjoy the city," he said and walked back inside the bank.

"Man, that is one crazy hombre," Julio muttered, blinking behind his sunglasses. He did a full circle, expecting to be surrounded by cops or similarly dressed spooks in immaculate dark suits. It was just them and other normal folks enjoying a warm summer afternoon. "Huh."

He and Star stared at each other in bewilderment.

"What are you doing?" Melinda asked in disbelief as her superior, right before her eyes, did an about-face and walked back inside.

Coulson made the motion of putting his finger to his lips. "Everybody keep doing what you were before. Don't pay them any attention."

"I don't understand what-" Melinda saw the hard flint-glare that the older agent flashed her and backed off. It took some effort, but she pretended to evaluate the written notes from her interviews of the bank staff. Simmons went back to entering data into her computer.

A few minutes later, the redhead appeared at the door and regarded them curiously through the glass. "Steady everyone," Coulson said in a low voice, and turned back to one of the security guards who had been an eye witness to the morning's robbery.

"Star, don't- _Aw crap!"_ Julio fretted as the taller man opened the doors and walked inside. Loathe to be separated; he reluctantly followed his friend all the while muttering under his breath: "I'm telling you this is a mistake. A really, _really_ big mistake."

"They are all right," Star said, staring at some of the bank staff in attendance before moving on to Coulson where he lingered for a few seconds. The eye covered by the tattoo was noticeably glowing. He glanced over at Simmons and immediately offered her a broad smile. Shocked by the sudden attention, the harried scientist recoiled in surprise and her elbow knocked a case of specimens off of her makeshift table. She rushed to pick them up, blushing furiously. When Star matched gazes with Melinda May, his posture changed and became rigid again. His hand strayed to the inside of his jacket. So did Melinda's. "Well, almost all of them are. You-" he pointed to the Asian and recalled what the enforcers from the Large (Big, he corrected in his mind) Apple had said. "Hands up where we can see them!"

Melinda didn't move until Coulson barked, "Do as he says."

Her face tightening up with barely restrained anger, she held them up.

"Smart move, chica," Julio said smugly.

"Sometimes you have to give a favor to get one. Who are you?" Melinda shot back.

Star ducked under the police tape and knelt down to touch the ceramic tile. His eyes were closed as he felt around the area leaving his partner to answer the question. "It doesn't matter. We're not going to be here for very long."

"If that's the case, than what's the harm in telling us who you're after? Seems to me we might be able to team up," Coulson suggested.

Julio shot him an unfriendly look. "We work alone."

"So you're bounty hunters? Mercenaries?"

"Those jerks are lucky and actually get paid. We're more like-like, I dunno, free agents, I guess."

"Vigilantes," Melinda said, noticing that Simmons was passing by her, getting closer to the redhead and trying not to be too obvious about it.

Julio shrugged but didn't deny the accusation.

"It's an odd choice for two intelligent young men," Coulson remarked. "You're from Mexico. It sounds like you were raised in Jalisco State, if I'm placing the accent correctly. Perhaps Guadalajara?"

For the very first time, Julio's poker face threatened to fracture before he managed to keep it in place. "Maybe, maybe not. Nice try," was all he would say.

"Your partner is another case entirely. No accent I can place. Looks and abilities his distinctive would have been in our database, but I don't recognize him. He's new here, isn't he? New to ... earth, maybe?"

This time it was Star who looked around at him, shock plain on his face. "Fekt. He's good."

"_Shh!"_ Julio hissed at him.

"You're alien?" Simmons asked. She was now close enough to the redhead to watch what he was doing.

"Don't tell her a damned thing!" Julio shouted, but knew it was a losing battle. All of Star's attention was immediately riveted on the pretty brunette. It was the damned bar all over again.

"Alternate dimension. I'm called Star. _Very_ pleased to meet you." He was practically purring.

Julio rolled his eyes to the ceiling. "Ay Dios ..."

"I'm Agent Simmons, but you can call me Jemma. What are you doing, Star?"

"I receive empathic and sensory input through touch. I'm trying to pick up a psychic scent from-" He glanced at Julio, saw the anger there, and changed direction with, "-our target in order to gauge some precognitive insight to where his next destination may be."

"Psychometry. That's what we call that ability here."

Fascinated, the redhead asked, "Do many humans have this gift, Jemma?"

"There are people who fake it as a get-rich-quick scheme. It's very rare for someone to actually possess it. What's it telling you now?"

Star craned his head over at Julio again, looking stricken, and his friend lasted maybe five seconds under that anguished stare before he slapped his hands to his sides in frustration and cried; "Alright! Go ahead and tell her. But don't say I didn't-"

"We are on the trail of Julio's uncle-"

"_I didn't say you could use my freakin' name!" _

"I'm sorry, Ric," Star offered, earning him another thigh slap from the disgusted Mexican. Turning back to Simmons, he continued as if he hadn't been interrupted, "-Who is a gun dealer in his country. The entire family is involved. I have been assisting Julio in trying to put a stop to the business."

"You might know them as the Richter Cartel," Julio mumbled, crossing his arms and staring down at his feet.

Of the three agents, it was Melinda who recognized the name. "I have some contacts with the ATF. They've come across that organization south of the border. Really nasty business."

"Star and I finally managed to cut off their money flow. My uncle Gonzalo is hitting banks in the States for more capital to keep the business afloat."

"And the teleportation? How does that fit into this?"

"That _vehjka_ has one of my swords," Star said, the first of genuine anger crossing his face as he pulled his free. It took all of Melinda's willpower not to draw on him but she realized the younger man was just holding it up for display. Simmons reached out to touch it and pulled her hand back with a shout of surprised pain.

"Bloody hell! It just gave me a shock," she said, rubbing her hand.

"My apologies for not warning you. Bioelectric feedback. Both swords are tuned specifically to my DNA." He looked directly at Coulson, identifying him as the leader of this group. "I'm from a world of science and magic. My weapons enable me to teleport to virtually any destination." He waited a beat, looking for a change in the agent's expression and then added, "You do not appear surprised by this information."

Phil just smiled. "I've had some similar experience with a hammer."

Star blinked and then got back to the matter at hand. "Gonzalo Richter should not be able to so much as touch my blade, let alone use its ability to teleport, but he is doing so with impunity. We seek to get it back and return him to Mexico to face justice."

"In other words: Back off," Julio added. "This is personal business. It doesn't have anything to do with you guys."

"Do you have any idea who we are?" Melinda had finally had enough. "You're not dealing with some run-of the-mill agency. You're dealing with S.H.I.E.L.D."

Julio took his sunglasses off and just looked at her through bored, half-lidded eyes. "...Who?"

"Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division."

"Boy, someone must have spent all day trying to come up with the words for _that_ tongue-twister."

Grant Ward had freely voiced the same opinion on the topic, but she refused to let the punk's smartass attitude detour her. "You need to show us some respect. We're the group that backs The Avengers."

"Could I get Thor's autograph?" Star immediately piped up. "He is extremely-"

"Star!" Julio snapped. "For the love of God, will you-"

"I think that could be arranged," Coulson cut in smoothly, and both young men looked at him in amazement. "I'm a Captain America fan, myself. I have his entire set of collective cards. He was gracious enough to sign them for me before I-" the agent fell into puzzled silence for a moment and then shook his head. "It doesn't matter. I'm just saying the benefits of our working together outweigh the negatives."

"Says you," Julio sneered.

"I fail to see the advantages either," Star dismissed. "I have watched your vids extensively and have seen what clandestine organizations do to ... visitors like me."

"Vids? You mean videos? _Movies?_" Simmons was looking at him in astonishment.

He offered her a curt nod and went back to rubbing his hand on the floor. "I will _not_ be dissected."

"And I won't let you take him," Julio said.

Simmons huffed out a breath. "We're not the bloody X-Files, you wanker."

"I don't care who or what you are. Star's off-limits."

"He's the one with the sword and psychic ability," Melinda said. "From the looks of things, you're just a powerless tag-along. What do you honestly think you can do if- And I'm saying 'if' here- we decided to implement Capture Protocol on your friend?"

Julio glanced at her mildly, for once keeping his mouth shut, but Coulson could have sworn there was a ghost of a smile on the young man's face. It was almost a smirk. "Try it and find out."

She took a step towards him. "You know what? I think I've had just about enough of your bull-"

"Julio!" Star shouted. "He is using my sword. _Right now!_ I can sense it!"

Throwing Melinda a cocky salute, the Hispanic ran over to his friend. "Let's go!"

"Just a damned minute-" Melinda shouted and had to shield her eyes to the sudden burst of light from Star's teleportational doorway. The redhead charged through but, surprisingly, Julio lingered behind. "He can hold the breech open for as long as ten seconds. I'd suggest you guys move your ass if you want to tag along," he said, and stepped into that blazing column and disappeared.

Simmons followed right in after him without even asking for orders. All she was thinking about was keeping the alien (the tall, handsome, _sexy-as-all-hell_ alien) in her sights at all costs. Coulson moved briskly and grabbed Melinda's arm and they ran for the gateway. Melinda picked up her leather coat on the way by and when they emerged on the other side, the breech sealed; cutting the material of her jacket smoothly in half. She was left looking at it in disbelief. It dawned on her what would happen to a body part if it didn't make it through: The seal acted just like a guillotine.

She looked around and saw –_surprise, surprise_- that they were in another bank. Shocking was the fact that Grant, Fitz and Skye were there staring at them with their mouths open. It looked like Fitz had rigged up some sort of electronic gizmo that was projecting a high pitched whine. The scientist looked utterly gob smacked before jumping up and clapping in excitement. "What did I tell ye? It actually worked!"

"This time," Skye muttered.

"True enough, I guess. I wasn't countin' on it givin us a piggyback ride. It shouldn't'a happened that way. Some variable that Grumpy didn't catch-"

Still attached to the beacon, the drone made the sound of a raspberry again.

"Hey, I recognize this bank. We were here this morning," Julio said, looking out the window and seeing the Golden Gate Bridge. "We're back in San Francisco."

"It's a trick! They called me here to ambush us!" Star shouted, assuming a defensive posture and brandishing his sword.

Melinda's hand flew to her holster while Grant already had his automatic drawn and was pointing it at Star's head. "Put the weapon down!"

Star was backing slowly towards the door, making sure that Julio was behind him. His left eye flashed in anger. "_Fekt you!_ Your aura is even more tainted than _hers!_" He waved the tip of his weapon in Melinda's direction before holding it out in front again.

Grant faltered for just a brief second, the confusion (and perhaps, the barest hint of guilt) apparent on his face before he glowered back at them. "Put that down and nobody will get hurt."

Coulson fearlessly stepped in between the two parties, trying to play the peace-maker. "Everybody stand down. This is all just a misunderstanding. Let me try-"

There was another column of light that suddenly appeared right beside them and a figure stumbled out. It was an older, gray-haired man. Even without the hood, the clothes and automatic weapon marked him for who it was. The robber took one glance at the welcoming party and turned around and tried to jump back into the gateway only to find it had disappeared. He began uttering a string of curses in Spanish.

"Ha! Got you now, you bastard!" Julio said with a grin that contained absolutely no hint of humor.

"_Vehjka!"_ Star roared. "Give me my sword back!" He blindly charged forward. Behind him, Grant looked like he was about to take a shot before Julio quickly blocked his field of vision. He had one hand pointing at the agent with the fingers curled into a mockery of a gun. "Don't try it, cabrón. Don't even _think_ about it!"

Looking like he was on the receiving end of a particularly bad joke, Grant glanced at Coulson who passed him a tacit shake of the head. Reluctantly, he lowered his weapon.

Gonzalo Richter whipped around with his AK-47 at the advancing alien. Before he could so much as fire off a single burst, Star flipped out of the line of fire and sliced the weapon in half with the otherworldly steel of his blade as he came down. He kicked the older man in the stomach and easily knocked him to the ground, tearing open Gonzalo's trench coat. "_Hez bai m'ej?!_ What have you done?!" Star cried in dismay.

His sword had been broken apart into several pieces; the hilt and hand-guard removed entirely and the alien metal shoved into various slots of a gadget that Gonzalo had securely strapped to his chest. When Star tried to touch one of the metal pieces there was a brilliant flash and he was thrown backwards, colliding with the far wall hard enough to leave an imprint of his body in the stucco. He fell to the ground, dazed. When he raised his head, he was shocked to see one of the agent's standing beside him, offering a hand.

"Are you alright?" Coulson asked.

"Do not worry about me," he said, but he took the hand anyway, letting it help him get to his feet. He stared at the contact for a moment, his left eye flashing, and then carefully pulled his hand free. "I'm sorry."

Coulson looked confused. "I don't understand."

"I don't either. All I know is that Tahiti was not real and I'm sorry," the alien said, staring at him gravely.

_That magical place,_ was all that was on Coulson's mind every time the Polynesian island was so much as mentioned. He remembered facing off against Loki in the S.H.I.E.L.D. helicarrier. And losing. But apparently he got the last laugh because he was able to relax at a resort in beautiful Tahiti to recover from his injuries.

_...Didn't he? _

"Star!" Julio shouted at him. "You okay?"

Casting the agent one more regretful glance, the redhead turned to Julio and responded, "He did something to my blade. It repelled me."

"You don't know how much power these things have, do you?" Gonzalo said, sitting up. He cast the agents and his nephew the same gloating smile. "I found someone who does. Do you want to meet him?" He looked directly at Star. "He sure wants to meet you."

Only blank fear registered on Star's face. _"...nai." _

"Say hello to my big-assed friend!" Gonzalo cried out, turning a knob on the device to his chest. A huge round disk of light appeared behind him, almost reaching the ceiling.

"Close that gateway!" Grant shouted at Fitz.

The Scot just looked at him in dazed incomprehension for a few seconds before he and Simmons began rummaging through their equipment, babbling between them in a gibberish that was almost twin speak.

"-use a sonic grenade?"

"- could use Sneezy to cause an EMP-"

"-have any time to rig up a repelling shield-"

"- nanoplague? Where the bloody hell are my-"

"I don't friggin' believe you losers," Julio said in disgust. He looked at Gonzalo who was smirking back at him. "I'll only give you one chance to close that thing, uncle. I won't repeat myself twice."

The older man's smile sagged a bit. "You wouldn't dare, Hooly. We're family."

"All of you disowned me last year. Remember why?"

"Julio! I'm your uncle! We're blood-" Behind him, a large shadow began to coalesce and take shape in that deadly whitewash circle. It was bulbous and huge and moving on legs that resembled a crab's. Star caught one look at that twisted nightmare and raised his sword in helpless self-defense. He began muttering a stream of alien words under his breath that sounded almost like a prayer.

Julio glanced at his terrified partner then back at his uncle. "The time for talking is done," he said coldly and clenched his hands into fists.

The floor began to shake. Everything not bolted down began to make a staccato sound across the tiles. Several fissures ran out from beneath Julio's boots and skated across the length of the bank, splitting the floor and causing it to heave up with a rumble of protest. Deep cracks ran up the walls and skittered across the ceiling like tracks of lightening.

"Earthquake!" Skye cried, dropping to her hands and knees as a massive shockwave jolted the entire building.

"Everyone get out of here!" Grant shouted, desperately trying to keep his footing. He and the other agents helped the bank staff get to the exits. _"Come on!"_ he shouted at Star who was settled down into a wary crouch, riding out the heaving ground. "You have to leave! It's not safe!"

Star fixed him with calm gaze. "You see the truth now, don't you? Julio isn't the sidekick. I am. I'll be fine."

Stunned, Grant could only stare at him before Skye hauled on his arm hard enough to almost pull him out of his boots. They stumbled and tripped their way out of the bank to join the others standing out on the street where the ground was level and untouched. The quake was eerily localized. Too localized to be a real earthquake at all.

Melinda was the last out the door. She glanced over her shoulder in time to see a huge chunk rip free from the ceiling and crush the body of Gonzalo Richter. The gateway behind him immediately shrunk just as a yellow hand with three long skinny fingers was reaching through the breech. The digit of one was cut off as the circle sealed shut, smothering the scream of rage and pain from whatever had been on the other side of the portal. She lost sight of the two young men as the bank filled up quickly with dust and smoke. Coughing, she made her way outside.

It was ten minutes before Coulson would allow any of the agents back into the building. Armed with breathing gear and goggles, they discovered the center of the bank was now one huge sink hole. Fitz sent a drone down into it while Grant and Melinda found two pairs of tracks that led them out back. They followed the dusty boot prints as far as the sidewalk where the trail disappeared into the crowd of spectators that was gathering in an increasing throng. Police were setting up barricades and the air was filled with the sound of wailing sirens, honking horns, and shouting people.

"We lost them," Melinda said. In truth, she really wasn't all that surprised.

"Care to fill me in?" Grant had missed the prelude that had taken place in Charleston.

"Later. We're too exposed here to hang around for much longer," she said and they went back the direction they came.

The Bus was still sitting on a pad at an Air Force base in South Carolina. It took a few phone calls, but a private jet was dispatched to take them back to their mobile command headquarters. During the commute, Sky worked her magic and hacked into a Mexican-based ATF database and cross-referenced it with information that Coulson had managed to scavenge. She transmitted all that information to Maria Hill so the agent could do her own investigation along the back channels of S.H.I.E.L.D. that Skye didn't have access to. By the time the exhausted team was back on board their aircraft and all cleaned-up and changed into their casuals, Maria was ready to start the debriefing.

She had already called up a passport photo of Julio and had it up on the holo display. In that image, he looked younger and happier than the moody young man they had all encountered.

"Julio Estoban Richter," Maria told them. "Twenty years old. Son of Louis Alejandro Garabello Richter who was the leader of the Richter Cartel until he was killed in a turf war with a rival gang five years ago. Being the only son, Julio was working closely with his three uncles and slated to take over the organization when all of that changed last year. Julio suddenly dropped off the grid." The brunette briefly consulted the information on her screen. "According to the ATF office in Guadalajara, a few months later weapon shipments began to disappear. Mercenaries associated with the cartel started getting killed. The organization has lost a lot of territory in a short period of time. None of the Mexican authorities are entirely sure what's causing the trouble, not that they're complaining."

"Oh, I think I have a clue," Melinda said. "He's one of them, isn't he?" She was nodding at Julio's picture. "He's a mutant."

Simmons fist-pumped the ceiling. "Yes!" she shouted in victory. She looked over at Fitz. "You owe me fifty bucks!"

"Like blazes I do!" the Scot shot back. "It was the teleporting we had the bet on. Not a bloody seismic generator!"

"The teleporting was caused by alien swords infused with science and magic," Coulson said with a straight face. He had been largely quiet since their return from San Francisco. Even more than usual.

Leo Fitz looked at him for perhaps all of five seconds, weighing the pros and cons of a debate in his mind and coming up blank. He wordlessly pulled out his wallet and slammed the bill into his associate's waiting hand. "Next time, I'll be right."

"Sure you will, sweetheart," Jemma said and kissed him on the cheek. Judging by the dopey smile on Fitz's face, he didn't consider himself a loser in the equation.

Even though Grant pretty much knew what the answer was going to be, he looked at Skye and asked, "Did you find anything about a rogue swordsman named 'Star'?"

The hacker didn't disappoint him. "Nothing. Zilch. Nada. If he's been on earth, it hasn't been for long."

"Last year maybe?" Melinda queried. "Around the same time that Julio turned on his family? Star must be the linchpin in the family feud."

Grant shook his head. "I don't care how special he is. You don't turn on your entire family for a friend. Even if it's a crime family."

"Not a friend, but maybe something else," Skye said, eying him with a ghost of a smile on her lips. "They've been in the States for a week chasing that Gonzalo guy. I followed their backtrail and found out they were using fake ID's with a stolen credit card. It wasn't hard to do a trace. Every hotel room they booked was for one bedroom, one bed."

"So? Maybe finances were tight and one of them slept on the floor," Grant dismissed. He looked around at the faces staring at him and felt like he was left out of the loop of something. _"What?!"_ he shouted. "That's what I did with my buddies back in the day before I got a steady pay check. It didn't mean I was-" He visibly faltered. "...Oh."

"_Ding!"_ Skye announced triumphantly.

"Whatever the case, they stripped the device that bloke was wearing," Fitz said unhappily. "Sneezy found the body at the bottom of the sink hole. It was over ten meters deep. No metal shards I could examine. Not so much as a diode or microchip. Whatever he had on him, only those two boyos have any clue. It's frustrating."

"Speak for yourself. I'm going to be up all night with _that_." Jemma gestured to the piece of severed finger that was laying in a scanner currently being analyzed. "Actual biological evidence of an alternate dimension!"

"So let me see if I've got this straight," Grant rumbled. "In addition to the Chitauri race, Extremis technology, HYDRA weaponry, and the Rising Tide. Now we have to deal with a parallel dimension that's dropping off superhuman tourists? That's just great."

"What was going on in that bank didn't look like a potentially happy reunion to me," Melinda said. "I don't think that alien is supposed to be here. It's the swords that allow him to teleport around. He might have stolen them to come here."

"And now there's only the one, which he's still in possession of," Fitz said, lost in thought. He was thinking of all of the tests he would happily run on a weapon like that. "Unless he can fix the other. We'll never know for sure."

"We made positive contact," Coulson said. "Perhaps we'll see them again."

"How?" Maria asked, arching an eyebrow at him. "It's not like they have our number."

"Actually they do," Phil said, smiling. "I slid my business card into the redhead's coat pocket. In the meantime, I'll give a covert head's-up to various agencies in Mexico to be on the lookout for them. I imagine that we'll all cross paths again; one way or another."

"Just for the sake of record, I am _not_ training another 'consultant'," Grant piped up, hooking a thumb in Skye's direction. "That one is trouble enough."

"Hey!" she bawled in protest.

Simmons eagerly raised her hand. "I'll do it!"

"Spare me from damn superhero groupies," Grant grumbled under his breath and stalked out of the debriefing room in his usual sulk.

"Why you?" Fitz was scowling at his partner.

"Uhm..."

"I think somebody has a crush," Skye observed.

"_Och!_ Ye meet one mutant an ye go all fangirl on me!"

"Actually, it wasn't the Mexican I was, uh, voting for," Jemma confessed, coughing into her hand.

"_Ye bloody slapper!"_ Fitz hollered.

As the room dissolved into its usual dysfunctional chaos, Coulson didn't stick around to play mediator like he usually did. He slipped out of the room and went to his quarters, thoughtfully looking at all of the memorabilia he had gathered over the course of his career. He knew the nuance to every piece; the story behind it, the date it was collected, the details of its particular composition. What was missing was his usual emotional response. He realized that the nostalgia felt wrong. Like some sort of faded echo of its former clarity.

Sealed protectively in a transparent cube was a Captain America card on display that had: _"To Phil - Happy to serve with you. ~ Steve"_ written across it. In the upper left-hand corner was a small red dot. It was a spot of dried blood. His blood. A reminder of his stand-off against Loki where he had-

_-Gone to that magical place_, his mind immediately filled in; as if it had been programmed to do that whenever he thought too hard about the incident. He picked up the cube, one of the few things that wasn't glued down, and stared at the drop of blood. It was the same color as the odd star tattooed around the alien's eye. Star had looked so sad, staring at him. And what he had said ...

"_All I know is that Tahiti was not real and I'm sorry." _

_That magical place,_ Phil Coulson thought again. Without warning, he whirled around and threw the cube against the wall. It wasn't glass, only plastic, and just came apart from the collision; the card fluttering to the carpet. Coulson didn't pick it up. Breathing hard, he looked out of the window at the airport and decided it was time to call Nick Fury on a matter that had absolutely nothing to do with business.

This was personal.

* * *

The End.


End file.
